


Right, Before the End

by little_abyss



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Caretaking, Clothed Sex, Complicated Relationships, Emotionally Repressed, Frottage, Grey Wardens, Harm to Anders, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-02 18:08:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14550381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_abyss/pseuds/little_abyss
Summary: Anders and Nathaniel have danced around each other for a while now. But sometimes it takes a near-death experience to make the right course of action a little clearer.





	Right, Before the End

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marmett (MisterWiggums)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisterWiggums/gifts).



“Fucking bloody _arse_ ,” Nathaniel mutters under his breath. Anders can’t help it -- he snickers, raising his eyebrows when Nathaniel turns around to glare at him.  
“Bit real for you, is it?” he asks, gesturing at Nathaniel’s boots. There’s mud up to his calves, and Nathaniel looks down at them and grimaces, clearly disgusted.

Anders laughs. “Come on, Howe, it’s the Blackmarsh! What’s not to love? Fresh air, good clean exercise…”

“Mud for miles, walking corpses every twelve paces, having to listen to your shit,” Nathaniel mumbles, and Anders grins and shifts Pounce to a more comfortable position inside his robe.

“You don’t have to listen to me shit,” he laughs, “But I mean, if that’s what gets you off…”  
Nathaniel sneers at him and rolls his eyes. “Does everything come back to sex with you?”  
“Not everything,” Anders disagrees amiably, then gestures to the backs of their Commander and the dwarf next to her, “Oghren, for instance.”  
Nathaniel snorts a laugh, then quickly smothers it. “Come on,” he says, straightening, looking in the direction that Anders has pointed in. “They’re getting too far ahead.”  
“Alright, alright,” Anders sighs, “I’m coming.”

  
Nathaniel smirks briefly, those dark eyes resting briefly on Anders face before he turns to squelch after the Commander. Anders grins at his back, then barks a sharp laugh and yells after him, “Don’t think I didn’t see that look, Howe! I’m not the only one with sex on the brain, obviously!”

Nathaniel flaps a hand at him, but doesn’t turn around again. For another moment, Anders watches him, grinning, and then he hurries after the little group himself.

-|||-

“Oh, oh fuck, Na… Nate…” Anders gasps, “I’m coming!”  
“Hurry up about it then,” Nathaniel growls, “I’ve been waiting up here for ages!”  
“All these stairs…” Anders groans, “I thought Kinloch was bad… ugh, Maker, who built this place?”  
Nathaniel sighs and puts his bow over his shoulder. Anders mounts the last stair, onto the parapet of Vigil’s Keep, and doubles over, panting. It’s all for show, of course, but that’s better than having to tell Nathaniel that he was late because he overslept after a dreadful rest. It’s the dreams. Not the Warden dreams -- the other ones. The ones which are just darkness and silence, the ones where he wonders whether he’s going mad, whether this voice in the darkness is his own or someone else's. Anders’ chest tightens, his throat feels as if it’s closing and he feels panic skitter and roll inside his stomach, sending bursts of sensation along his arms and into his hands. He takes a final breath and grins, coming upright and raises an eyebrow. “Alright. I’m better now. Thank you for your concern, it really is quite touching.”  
Nathaniel snorts and rolls his eyes. “Can I go now?”

“Aren’t you supposed to give me a report or something?” Anders asks. He cocks his head, frowning, then holds up a hand when Nathaniel starts to speak, silencing him once more. Nathaniel gives him an exasperated look, mouth hanging open, then Anders whispers, “Did you hear that?”  
“Hear wha…” Nathaniel starts, then halts suddenly, jerking his head to the side. Immediately, he unlooses his bow, clenches his jaw and mutters, “Go get the Commander.”  
“You go,” Anders whispers, pulling his staff off his shoulder. “I just got here.”  
“Anders, for fuck’s sake,” is all Nathaniel has time for, when there is a gruesome laugh from behind a small turret. A sharp intake of breath from Nathaniel, and he raises his arm, pulling an arrow smoothly from the quiver on his back, even as the hurlock rounds the corner, hefting its chipped blade in one hand. There’s a genlock right behind it, and Anders has no time to either admire the elegance of Nathaniel’s gesture or feel smug at the fact that once again, he’s managed to provoke him. Instead, he drives his stave hard into the rock of the old keep, pulling mana up from deep within him, directing the Fade to become lightning, willing it into reality.

The first shot from the end of his staff goes wide; the hurlock takes Nathaniel’s arrow in the shoulder. It knocks it back a pace, but after a quick glance, it simply reaches up it’s free hand and snaps the shaft of the arrow off. “Hey!” Anders yells back down the stairwell, “Hey, Wardens! A little help!”  
“Anders!” Nathaniel shouts, “Back up!”  
He turns, panic fluttering in his chest, anger throbbing in his temples. Why didn’t we feel these things coming? he wonders, taking a step backward, his staff over his head now, throwing his arm wide, a barrier springing suddenly between the approaching hurlock and Nathaniel. “Anders!” Nathaniel shouts and then, Anders feels it.

There’s a disgusting sound behind him, and too late, Anders realises that the genlock has moved too quickly, has in-fact, been circling around behind a pile of rubble while he and Nathaniel have been distracted with the hurlock. There’s a horrible searing pain in his thigh -- he looks down, into the genlocks face. All he sees are eyes and teeth before he reacts, not even really aware of what he’s doing, what he yells while he’s doing it. But his leg, his leg can’t take his weight, and the genlock seems to loom closer, although it can’t, it’s a mass of flames, the sound of it, Maker, his chest hurts, everything hurts. His connection to the Fade seems to slip away from him all of a sudden, like a Silence, but worse, somehow, because at least with a Silence you don’t have this horrible thing staring at you, and oh, why did he think this was a good idea, becoming a Warden… it’s not… it’s not…

“Anders!” comes a shout, hoarse and terribly choked-sounding, then the genlock reels backward, a shaft poking from its eye. It slumps to the ground, still in flames, and Anders blinks at it, then looks at his own chest. Blood seeps around the haft of a dagger, protruding from the upper part of his chest, just below his clavicle. Then someone is there, an arm around his shoulders, and he looks up and grins.  
“That’s that, then,” he rasps as Nathaniel stares down at him in horror. “You get the other one, did… did you?”  
“Yes,” Nathaniel breathes, “Maker’s Balls, Anders, wait here. I’ll get someone.”  
“I’m… not going anywhere…” Anders murmurs, his breath shorter now. “Na...Nate. If I… If I die…”  
“You’re not going to,” Nathaniel tells him through gritted teeth. “Shut up.”  
“You… shut up…”  
Nathaniel gives an exasperated huff, then glances again at Anders’ chest. “I’ll be right back,” he promises, and then is gone.  
Hurry, Anders thinks. Then his eyes close, and he loses himself in the dark.

-|||-

“...to me. I’ll do it.”  
A pause, and then a bossy-sounding female voice says, “You never professed any love for him before.”  
“I don’t love him,” the first voice says, sounding defensive. Anders tries to smile, finds he can’t, then drops into the dark again.

-|||-

A sigh in the cool room. Anders hears it, then feels the pain. It’s not the worst he’s felt, but it’s hardly a summers-day picnic either. Not that he’s had too many of those, but he’s heard they’re definitely better than being stabbed in the chest. Hey, he tries to say, but only manages a slurry mumble. “Shh,” a voice quite close tells him, and then he feels a rough hand on his forehead. “Don’t try to speak. Just sleep, if you can. Bloody daft idiot.” The last is muttered both bitterly and fondly, and it seems the words follow him back down, into the dark once more.

-|||-

He comes back to the world again with a whooping gasp. “Anders?” he hears, but he’s too busy wincing and clutching at the bandages on his chest, too busy relishing the flow of magic once more through his fingers. Immediately, he struggles up in the narrow bed, ignoring the scream of the muscles in his chest and leg -- he knows that that is only temporary. Maker, it itches. Anders begins tearing at the bandages, and then, quite suddenly, someone is there beside him, arresting his hands.  
“Don’t,” Nathaniel says sharply, pulling his hands away from his chest, “You’ll do yourself a mischief.”  
“No more than what you lot have already done to me,” Anders says, “What the fuck, Nate? Did you take that knife out with with a bloody ax or something?” Anders breathes in, as deeply as he can, ignoring the bruised, awful ache in his chest and the way that his lungs scream for air, and says, “You don’t tell the healer, the healer tells you. Now get out of my way.”

Nathaniel grimaces, then takes his hands away from Anders’. They stare at each other for a moment, Anders watching Nathaniel’s face carefully in the flickering light of the lone candle. “How long was I out for?” he asks abruptly.  
“Couple of hours,” Nathaniel tells him, and sighs. Anders grimaces.  
“You’re a shit liar, Howe,” he says coldly, “How long?”  
“Day and a bit,” Nathaniel huffs, and looks away, toward the stone wall. Anders shakes his head and begins to unknot the bandages around his chest. But his fingers are clumsy, and the knots are tied badly, and eventually he tsks impatiently and says, “Give me a hand, would you?”

Silently, Nathaniel approaches him. As he begins assisting Anders to take off the bandages, Anders scowls and asks, “So? What happened?”  
“I don’t know,” Nathaniel says softly, “The Commander thinks they got in through the dungeons. But either way… it’s bad.”  
“Yeah,” Anders says, and grimaces again when he sees the wound. It’s not big, but it’s deep -- he can feel that. Another half-finger length, and I’d probably be dead, he thinks, and sighs, putting his hand over the wound and closing his eyes. Fibres and sinews; vessels and veins… each is a layer, a single component, the rupture of which is the wound itself. The ends of these fibres are ragged, but they clearly show -- Anders sees it in his mind's eye, senses it with his magic -- the path that the blade had taken. After he’s identified that, it’s simple to arrange the ends in such a way that they match up evenly and grow together once more. He blinks his eyes open, sees Nathaniel staring at him and grins. “Ta-dah!” he says softly, and removes his hand.

The scab falls off into his palm, and Anders flicks it away. Nathaniel peers closely at the place where the wound was, where now is just new, pink flesh. “Amazing,” Nathaniel breathes, then seems to catch himself and pulls back slightly. Anders chuckles dryly.  
“So what do you think?” he asks, choosing to ignore Nathaniel’s reaction, “Are we going to be murdered in our beds?”  
Nathaniel shrugs. It’s not the most comforting of sights. “I don’t know,” he says softly, and sighs hard, narrowing his eyes at Anders. The silence stretches, then suddenly, Nathaniel says, “So.”

Anders waits for the rest of the sentence, but it never comes. He arches an eyebrow at Nathaniel, then shakes his head. “So? What?”  
Nathaniel shrugs and remains silent. Anders watches him for a while, then rolls his eyes. “You’re never going to be known as one of the great conversationalists, are you, Howe?”  
Surprisingly, Nathaniel smiles slightly and looks away, then back at Anders. The gesture is almost coy, and Anders narrows his eyes, shifting slightly in the bed; he winces when his wounded leg sends a flare of pain shooting up his thigh, into his hip. “Bloody void,” he mutters, throwing off the covers, “Do I have to do everything around here?”

Quickly, he pulls up the long undershirt he’s been put into — it’s too big for him, maybe Nathaniel’s, but it smells more like Justice. A nightie from the Fade, Anders snickers to himself, then runs his hand down the back of his thigh, toward his knee. Ah! There it is. He winces a little as his fingers find the crusted-over wound on the back of his leg, then he closes his eyes and concentrates again.

When that wound too is healed, Anders opens his eyes. Nathaniel is still looking at him, dark eyes serious. Anders frowns and purses his lips, then raises his eyebrows in mute question. Still, Nathaniel says nothing. In the quiet of the room, the wind screams suddenly through a crack in the masonry; Anders clenches his jaw at the noise, but his eyes remain on Nathaniel. He blinks, lips opening slightly, but never shifts his gaze.  
Words swarm and crowd themselves into Anders’ throat, onto his tongue. But he closes his teeth in front of them, determined for some strange reason to meet Nathaniel’s silence with his own. There’s a tension here, it’s growing, he feels it, and he can tell that Nathaniel feels it too.

If there’s anything that living in a Circle makes you good at, it’s reading people. The slightest raise of an eyebrow; the flutter of a heartbeat under a jaw — seeing this kind of detail can mean the difference between going unnoticed and being noticed in all the wrong ways. Now, observing Nathaniel and his reaction to this growing silence, Anders wonders how he could ever have missed it — it seems so obvious. Slowly, a smile creeps over his lips; he cocks his head, narrowing his eyes, and Nathaniel swallows hard and frowns. The silence seems to swell, subsuming them, then Nathaniel blurts, “What?”  
“I could ask you the same question,” Anders says softly. There’s no bite to it though, no sarcasm, and slowly, Nathaniel’s frown eases. He takes a deep breath and looks away.

“Look. Can… can I ask you something?”  
Anders nods, then realises Nathaniel may not have caught the motion. “Yes,” he says, still in the same soft tone. Nathaniel shifts on his seat, awkward, then sighs.  
“Look,” he repeats, “It’s not… I mean… I’m not… you know, asking for… I mean, I’m not even sure how I feel about the idea or anything… but…” Nathaniel grimaces, tightens his hands into fists on his thighs, then asks, “What are we?”  
Anders blinks, his eyebrows rising. Abruptly, he laughs, but seeing the look on Nathaniel’s face, covers it, tries to turn it into a cough. “Um,” he begins, “Humans? Wardens? Two handsome fools, one slightly more handsome than the other — that’s me, by the way — caught up in this mad world, just trying to get by?” Nathaniel looks at him crossly and shakes his head, and Anders sighs. “I… I’m sorry. First instinct and all that. Um… let me… let me have a think.”

But again, the silence stretches between them, and all Anders can do is shake his head. “I don’t know,” he says quietly, then looks at Nathaniel. “And I don’t quite know why I have to be the one to decide. Do you want to fuck? To be friends? Because honestly, you were going about both those things in completely the wrong way.”  
Nathaniel nods, looking miserable, and Anders regrets his tone. But he won’t be made to expose his feelings — as if he even knew what those are... certainly he finds Nathaniel some kind of attractive, but Maker, the man can be an arse — so he stays quiet.  
Eventually, into the silence, Nathaniel mutters, “I don’t know. Sometimes I think you’re a fucking pest… other times, I think you’re one of the more interesting people I’ve met. And brave. And stupid. And kind and cruel, and all that stuff. And… I mean… there are times…” he clears his throat and looks a little uncomfortable, then defiantly stares straight at Anders, “There are times when… yeah. I do want to fuck you.”

“And not in a _fuck you, mage_ , kind of way?” Anders grins, then laughs and shakes his head when Nathaniel rolls his eyes. Anders chuckles, and shifts over in the narrow bed, closer to the wall. “Well… there is one way to find out how you feel about the whole thing.” He pauses, not quite sure about it, then throws caution to the winds and pats the mattress beside him. “Come here.”  
Nathaniel’s lips open a little, and he blinks, then clears his throat and licks his lips. Slowly, he rises, takes two steps and pauses, standing above Anders. Anders watches him, sees his throat work, then Nathaniel sits on the bed. Anders smiles slightly, then says, “Take your bloody boots off though.”  
Nathaniel snorts a laugh, then looks worried. “Anders,” he begins, his voice sounding husky, “Do you think…”  
“Not if I can help it,” Anders grins. “What are you worried about?”  
“Just about everything,” Nathaniel mutters. He frowns, then sighs and bends to take off his boots. Anders waits, still, watching Nathaniel, the curvature of his back, the rounded hunch of his shoulders, the way his dark hair falls forward. What does it feel like, that hair? What does Nathaniel like? What will he ask for? Patience, Anders tells himself, and seemingly with the thought, Nathaniel rises, pulling off first one boot, then the next. He twists slightly, looking at Anders briefly over his shoulder, then mutters, “What about the rest of it?”  
“If you want,” Anders says. Nathaniel pauses, then begins to undo his belt. Carefully, he puts it aside, tugs off his jerkin, then the undershirt, folding them and putting them onto the floor. His back is a little freckly, Anders sees, the wiry muscle shifting under the skin. The smoothness of the skin makes his fingers feel itchy — he wants to touch it. “C’mon,” he breathes, and again, Nathaniel turns, but this time, it is to look at Anders.

“I… you’re not still hurt, are you?” he asks, voice low, full of want. Anders shakes his head.  
“No,” he says, “Come here.”  
Nathaniel makes a noise of assent, and turns, sliding next to Anders in the bed. It’s too narrow for two; Anders smirks, his stomach in knots as they arrange themselves more comfortably. Each time Nathaniel shifts in the bed some other part of his body rubs up against Anders’, and when eventually they lie still, face-to-face, Anders is very aware of how hard he is beginning to be, how hard Nathaniel is. He hears Nathaniel swallow, then murmur, “Are you alright?”  
“Uh huh,” Anders murmurs. He takes a short breath, sighs it out and licks his lips. “What are you waiting for?”  
Nathaniel laughs, just a small huff of breath, accompanied by a smirk. “Probably the same thing you are.”  
“Huh,” Anders laughs, and puts his hand out, under the thin woolen blanket. The tips of his fingers brush gently against the skin at Nathaniel’s hip; Nathaniel gasps, then seems as if he is holding his breath.  
Anders laughs again, soft, and moves his hand, caressing up Nathaniel’s side, feeling the ululations of ribs under skin. Nathaniel makes a small, impatient noise in the back of his throat, then shifts closer to Anders; as he does, he takes hold of Anders’ elbow, drags him close. Their bodies are flush, Maker, Nathaniel’s heart is beating so hard, so fast inside his chest that Anders can feel it, and then he’s there, his lips are upon Anders, he smells like sweat, not unpleasant, just… there, real. And then the taste of him as Nathaniel’s tongue slides into his mouth, just a little, gentle but not tentative, he knows what he wants and Anders can’t help it, he smiles a little, kisses back more fiercely.  
Nathaniel gasps a breath, pulling now on Anders’ hip, he’s trying to get him to do something, be somewhere, but clearly doesn’t want to break the kiss to tell him. Slowly, Anders pushes his hips against Nathaniel’s thigh, then opens his legs, throwing one over Nathaniel’s hip. It seems to be all the invitation that Nathaniel needs, as before Anders realises what’s about to happen, Nathaniel pulls him up, across his body, to straddle his hips. “Fuck,” Anders mutters, the breath stolen from him as soon as the word is out, Nathaniel’s mouth hungry on his. He gives a short moan from below Anders, hands tight on him, one in his hair, the other kneading his arse.  
Anders is beginning to feel a little desperate. Slowly, he thrusts against Nathaniel, the friction delicious on his cock. He can feel Nathaniel respond to it, the way his fingers grip tighter, the way his own hips grind into Anders.  
Everything is tense, hot, overwhelming. The feeling in his head is, oh, it’s so good, too much, Anders can’t help it, he whimpers into Nathaniel’s mouth and pulls back, gasping, “Nate, Nate, I’m gonna, I…”  
“Yeah,” Nathaniel breathes, “Yeah, come on, Maker… feels good…”  
“Shit,” Anders hisses, then laughs, the movement of his hips becoming frantic as he squeezes his eyes closed, gritting his teeth and riding that moment, the pleasure of it, who cares who this is with him, it’s not him, but it’s better than being alone, it’s better than nothing and oh, fuck, this moment, this is it, it’s not him, not Karl, but it’s

Anders holds his breath as he comes, his mouth crushed against the skin of Nathaniel’s neck. Nathaniel follows, hands tightening to the point of pain in Anders’ hair — he jerks it back roughly, making Anders wince. Nathaniel gasps, mouth open, eyes closed, then seems to hold his breath. Anders stares into his face, watching, feeling pleased with himself. He sees Nathaniel’s throat work, and he licks his lips, then slits open his eyes. “You alright?” He rasps.  
“Yeah,” Anders smiles, “You?”  
“Fuck yeah,” Nathaniel murmurs, then snorts a laugh. “For the moment.”  
Anders laughs. “You’re a right ray of sunshine, you are.”  
“Difficult to remain positive with come drying inside my only clean pair of pants,” Nathaniel says wryly. Anders chuckles softly and makes to roll off him, but Nathaniel clings tighter, wrapping his arms around Anders’ back. He’s warm, and it feels good for a moment, but then it starts to feel to restricting and Anders shifts, pushing himself away. Nathaniel’s grip loosens, and he lets Anders go.  
Anders throws the blanket off them, squirming around until he can sit up and inspect the damage to the nightshirt he wears. It’s not too horrible, most of the come has been caught by it, and it’s not his anyway, so he pulls it off, balling it up and throwing it into a corner of the tiny cell. He pulls the blanket out of the end of the bed and around his shoulders, ignoring the scratchy feeling. That post-sex euphoria is definitely starting to fade; he sighs and turns slightly so that he can look at Nathaniel, who meets his gaze.  
They stare at each other for a second, until Anders grins. “No, really,” he says, “Are you alright?”  
Slowly, Nathaniel nods, looking thoughtful. Then he blinks and asks, “Who’s Karl?”  
Anders takes a short breath. _No-one_ , the lie rises to his lips too quickly and he pushes it aside. “Oh,” he says airily, “Just… someone I used to know.”  
Nathaniel nods again, frowning slightly now, then shrugs and looks away before muttering, “Wanna talk about it?”

 _Yes_. Again, the word is too quick and reflexively Anders pushes it aside once more. He does want to talk about it, that’s the awful thing… but he knows it would be too much for them both. Karl is the reason he’s here — Karl is the reason he does anything at all. And Nathaniel… to be perfectly, brutally honest, Anders just can’t trust him. Not with this. So instead, he rolls his eyes and smirks. “Not really. Maker, Nate, you really do know how to kill a mood, don’t you?”  
Nathaniel chuckles, though it sounds sad. “Bit real for you, is it?”  
“Something like that,” Anders smiles, then narrows his eyes. “Look. Thanks for… everything. If the cheek bothers you, I’ll try to lay off a bit.”  
“So all I had to do was save your life? Shit.” Nathaniel smirks, “I should tell Velanna. And Oghren. And…”  
“Well, you did make me come too,” Anders reminds him. “And you can tell Velanna that, but I’d just as soon you left Oghren out of it… last thing I need is that sweaty lump humping my leg…”

  
Nathaniel laughs. The sound seems to disappate some of the awkwardness in the room, and Anders smiles. Nathaniel smiles back, and sighs.  
“So,” he says, looking at Anders quickly, then at the door. There’s a silence, then he clears his throat. “I think you were right. This… did make things a bit clearer. For me, anyway. If you want, we can do this again, and I’d like that… but if you don’t, then… that’s okay. I just… I think you need a friend, more than anything. And… I get the feeling you won’t be sticking around.”

  
Anders swallows and looks away when Nathaniel turns his gaze back to him. “Yes, well,” he mutters, “Shows what you know.” He pauses, then shrugs. “I’m not going to kick you out of bed, but I’ve got all the friends I need.”  
Nathaniel chuckles and arches his eyebrows. “Right. I best be off. These pants won’t clean themselves.”  
Anders makes a noise of assent, but doesn’t look at Nathaniel again. He waits while Nathaniel gets off the bed and puts his boots on, throws his shirt on. Then Nathaniel rises and goes to the door — pauses a moment, looking at Anders. Maybe he’s hoping for something more, but Anders won’t meet his eye. He sits there, the scratchy woollen blanket around his shoulders, until Nathaniel inhales, pauses as if he is about to speak... then clears his throat and leaves the room. _Don’t think I didn’t see that look, Howe,_  Anders thinks bitterly, and rubs a hand across his face. Nathaniel’s words — _you won’t be sticking around_ — recur to him suddenly, and he sighs.

**Author's Note:**

> MisterWiggums, you probably don’t even remember saying that there needed to be more Nanders, it was so long ago. But I remembered, and have been hacking away at this for a while... I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
